Courtesy of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes
by kneazleFTW
Summary: In which, metaphorically, the cat is caught eating the canary, gets backed into a corner, and must snog his self-proclaimed enemy’s little sister for any chance of survival before the eyes of redhead-fancying deities. DMGW One Shot


**Author's Note**

Here's another One Shot for you who love DMGW goodness. I think that this is my favorite portrayal of Ginny as written by me. I'm really going to have to work on my Draco, though. I feel as if he's the same in all of my stories, and I'd really like to explore more malicious sides of him. We'll see. Oh well, here's this for now. Enjoy. Reviews are loved in epic proportions.

**Warning**

If you're a usual reading of mine, you know that my stories are generally rated T due to language or mention of blood or something silly like that, along with the fact that they are written to appeal mostly to teens. This One Shot is also rated T, but it's a bit different. You see, I wrote this like a teenager would, and, in the life of a teenager, there is mention of sex and anatomical parts that I'm sure ten-year-olds don't really understand the function of, yet still insist on reading about them here on . In reading this story, you realize that, while it is by NO MEANS sexual or lemon or even LIME-ish, there is reference to sex and the "trouser snake", to take a term from Louise Rennsion (author of the greatest series of books outside of HP). I'm just telling you that, while this is my favorite piece of mine thus far, it's also a teensy bit more mature than the rest. Just a heads up.

I'm not going to bother saying "OUT OF CHARACTER", because I've just taken two side characters who I think would make hot babies and decided that I'm going to morph them my way. If that fits into JKRs way of doing things, fine. But I read the epilogue, and I am one unsatisfied chica, so, to spite the world, this doesn't really comply with anything involving Draco or Ginny after the fourth/fifth books. HA. Take that receding-hairline and worst-children's-names-ever!

**Disclaimer**

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

_A jaw-dropper, looks good when he when he walks, he is the subject of their talk;  
He would be hard to chase, but good to catch and he could change the world;  
__With his hands behind his back, oh…  
… Daydreamer, with eyes that make you melt;  
He lends his coat for shelter, plus he's there for you when he shouldn't be;  
But he stays all the same, waits for you and then sees you through._

Excerpt from the song "Daydreamer" by **Adele**

* * *

Sweet Merlin, it was early.

So, _so_ early. And Ginny's head hurt. And not just because she had spent the past five minutes beating her head against the desk in the classroom she alone sat in. There were other reasons. Sort of. The warm rays of the morning sun were just beginning to reach into the room, taking her into their embrace like lovers. And she hated it.

She hadn't actually slept the night before- a fact she might have attributed her boiling temper to had she given it much thought. Unfortunately, her brain wasn't exactly functioning properly. Actually, there was no "properly" to it. Ginny Weasley's brain simply was not functioning at 6:46 in the morning.

"Bloody, buggering, sodding hell."

And, thus began her day.

In most of her classes, Ginny was an average, if not superb (in the case of Care of Magical Creatures and Care of Magical Creatures _alone_), student. Charms, however, had made quite clear its vendetta against the youngest Weasley- a fact that embarrassed said Weasley more than she cared to admit.

'_I couldn't be like normal students,_' she often thought to herself dejectedly, '_no, I couldn't be pathetic at potions and blame it on Snape and his greasy-haired arse. I couldn't fail miserably at divination and blame it on that quack, Trelawney. And I couldn't be absolute crap at History of Magic and blame it on Near-Death-by-Boredom like the rest of my mates. No, I had to be absolutely-bloody-awful at the easiest bloody class in the history of said bloody classes. Bloody hell._'

Such thought trains weren't exactly uncommon in Ginny's mind. Unfortunately.

"Well, sod it all," she finally resolved on this dawning morning. "I give up. I'm through- abso-bloody-lutely through." She began to pack up her belongings (quills, parchment, and an assortment of books- all pertaining to the mastery of charms), grumbling to herself all the while. "I've done all that's in my bloody power, and I'm finished. You hear that, Flitwick- you hopelessly pathetic little bugger? No more! I will not be submitted to this any longer."

"Yet, you insist on taking the class even in your seventh year."

It was too early. It was _so very _early, and Ginny's head hurt, and she was absolutely miserable at charms. She couldn't help it. Her scream was absolutely justified, though the throwing of her ink jar may not have been so much (in hindsight, that is- at the time, the voice very well might have belonged to some cunning rapist who attacked only at dawn and sought out only redheads who felt throwing ink jars was inappropriate; in such a case, the launching of her ink was more than appropriate).

"Shit, Weasley!"

"Malfoy."

There, in the doorway to her little hideaway stood Draco Malfoy. Tall (maybe a little over six feet of height to him), pale (glowingly so, especially in the growing sunlight), and striking (… er, as usual?), he stood leaning against the doorframe, hair dishevelled slightly and out of traditional Hogwarts garb- wait, what?

"Wait- what?"

Exactly.

"Surprised, Weasley?" the young man asked, his face perfectly calm saved one cocked eyebrow. "I can't say I was exactly prepared to catch you up here, pouring over some charms text or another. Can't say I was any more prepared to realize that you're utter crap at _that_ particular subject, either. Really, Weasley. _Charms_?"

"I'm going to hex you," Ginny informed him, taking out her wand. "I'm going to take my wand like this," she lifted it up just before her chin, "take a few steps towards you," she stepped forward almost a meter, "and swish-and-flick you into the next decade where your future children won't even recognize you because you're so very despicable-looking."

The Malfoy boy simply laughed humourlessly.

"Weasley," he drawled, "I'm amazed that you have enough coherency in your thoughts to threaten to hex me into _any_ decade, but if you were to actually carry through with that, I may have to be reduced to kissing your shoes or some other bit of rubbish just to prove how very shocked I am."

Her mind was dizzy as she took in what he was saying. She blinked heavily, then several times again to clear her blurring vision.

"Uh…" she faltered. "What?"

The smirk on his face was unbearably satisfied. "Exactly my point."

"I hate you," she told him simply. "I bloody hate you, you bloody… ferret."

"I'd like to have counted how many times you've said "bloody" since I've entered the room, Weasel," he sneered. "Haven't you any more creativity in you?"

"Not at six in the bloody morning I do not."

"Pity, then," he sighed mockingly.

She didn't know how to respond to that. Perhaps if her brain were functioning, she might have, but it wasn't. So she had nothing to say, and silence filled the room.

"Weasley?"

His voice sounded so far away. Almost like it was being muffled by something. Where was he? Behind a wall or something?

There hadn't been a wall there a moment ago, had there?

"Malfoy… I think I'm going to pass out," she warned, and then the world went black.

--

"Well, Ginny, you certainly know how to scare the living shit out of everyone in the castle."

"I wish I knew who was talking to me," Ginny groaned, her eyes shut and face serene. "But, you see, that would require opening my eyes, which requires movement- something I really just don't have enough energy for at the moment."

"Love, you're going to be jumped one of these days with that logic."

Realizing how very true this mystery person's words were, the girl opened her eyes slowly, resisting the urge to shut them again immediately upon seeing the bright lights. She was most definitely in the Hospital Wing, and her body felt like bricks were holding it down. And, Merlin, did the lights really have to be _so_ bright?

"Lord, I'm dying. Only that sodding light we're supposed to see when we've gone and offed ourselves could be this bloody bright," she grunted.

"Unfortunately, you're not that lucky. Nor as ladylike as you should be," the voice chuckled in good humour.

Ginny turned her head and breathed a sigh of relief. "Jimmy Peakes, you are quite possibly the only person on earth I'm alright with seeing right now."

He chuckled. "I'll count myself lucky, then. You should be proud, though. I hear Flitwick about fainted when he found you in his spare classroom this morning, all sprawled out on your desk and muttering about Malfoys and some other rubbish."

"Serves him right," she growled, remembering why she'd been in a state of fatigue in the first place. "Wait," she started, processing the rest of her friend's words. "I was talking about _Malfoy_? In my _sleep_?"

"Apparently. Natalie and Romilda were with him when he found you- assisting with pillow-fetching or feather-gathering, I'm sure. They've been telling the castle all about some sordid affair that you and Malfoy have been having," he laughed, raising his eyebrows at the redhead. "Something you've neglected to tell me, Ginny?"

She groaned, pulling her pillow out from behind her head only to smash it against her face. "'Mgnnuhkillthsedlts."

"What's that, Ginny? I can't seem to hear you through the mass of pillow you're attempting to inhale."

She pulled the pillow away from her face. "They've effectively botched my seventh year. I'm afraid I'll have to kill them myself to maintain some shred of dignity."

"Oh, don't be melodramatic, love," Jimmy grinned; flashing her the slight gap between his two front teeth.

"I wasn't being melodramatic. I was being realistic."

"Because threatening to kill my girlfriend and her hellishly obnoxious best friend is the very essence of realism?"

"Exactly."

He rolled his eyes at her, smiling all the while. "I'm not really concerned about your reputation, to be honest. I would, however, like to know how Malfoy of all people weaselled his way into your head?"

"There's something very "punny" with you using the verb "weasel" in any situation involving boy-ferret and me, just so you know," Ginny grumbled.

"Dully noted. In a sense. Now, go on and tell me. You…" he hesitated, "you _haven't_ been meeting Malfoy for a weekly romp, have you?"

Using all the energy left in her aching body, Ginny swung the pillow up to buff her friend across the face.

"You're going to hell for suggesting it possible," she sighed.

He grinned. "I know, I know. But those two sure do know their gossip. Got it down to a science, they do."

"You don't have to tell me," she moaned in disdain. "But I'm a bit confused. Thinking about it, I kind of remember passing out. And I most certainly was not at any desk."

"Then what were you doing?" Jimmy asked, seemingly genuinely curious.

"Er…" Ginny hesitated. "Threatening to hex Malfoy into the next decade, if memory serves."

Her friend let out a sharp bark of laughter. "C'mon, Ginny. You're brighter than that. Malfoy? At Hogwarts? No, I don't think he's been 'round since he got out into the real world and into making millions of galleon with every breath."

Ginny took a moment to consider this. It was true, of course. After graduating, Draco Malfoy had surprised everyone and no one all at once by leading an extremely public, extremely innocent lifestyle. He had bought the Daily Prophet, in a sense. He saved it from Bankruptcy after Rita Skeeter, "reporter extraordinaire", ran into some of the biggest law and financial troubles the Wizarding world had ever seen (all documented by the _Prophet_ in great detail, of course). From there, he proceeded to donate much of his earnings to St. Mungo's's and the Ministry of Magic's spell research teams. From there, he just… lived. Or so people assumed. Rumour had it that he'd moved out of his family's manor until the time came for him to inherit it, and his new residence wasn't exactly public.

"Earth to Ginny," Jimmy called, waving his hand in front of his friend's face.

She started and focused again on him. "Sorry, I guess I'm just confused. I must have dreamt that Malfoy was there and irritating me to death."

"Ah. Well, that seems the only reasonable explanation."

Ginny nodded, though something didn't feel right. For the past seventeen years, her dreams had never been so coherent, never so… insulting, to be frank. Her intuition was shouting "YOU GREAT DOLT, THAT WAS NO DREAM!" and she'd learned to trust her intuition over the years. Mostly since Tom.

She shivered.

"Hey, Jimmy, what are the chances of you springing me?" she asked the young man.

"Slim to none, Captain," he laughed. "Actually, I've got no time to persuade Pomfrey. Natalie is most likely waiting for me in the Great Hall. Do _try_ not to pass out without me, won't you?"

"Whatever, you great git," she huffed.

He was grinning as he left the Hospital Wing, leaving Ginny to try and decide the best way of convincing the Medi-Witch to let her go free. Just as her options came down to conjuring a dragon or sprouting wings and flying out of a nearby window, said nurse came to her bedside.

"Well, Miss Weasley," she sniffed. "I suppose you're good to go down to lunch. However, I do not want to have to treat you for fatigue again. The beds could be put to better use now that the youngest Greengrass has taken to losing her eyebrows more often than Seamus Finnegan."

Ginny snorted most inelegantly. Though she was elated to be released from the bright lights and cold air of the Hospital Wing, her amusement at Astoria Greengrass's stupidity couldn't be contained. She was almost certain that Madame Pomfrey shared much of the same opinion, too, as she caught the older woman's lips twitch just slightly when she snorted. Without much ceremony, Ginny changed into her own clothes (which were folded on a chair nearby the bed) and headed down to lunch.

--

"What's it like Ginny?" Luna inquired in her airy manner.

"What's what like?" Ginny asked, her irritation at her peers' whispers obvious in her tone.

"Being attacked by quaxlims, of course."

"Er… what?" the redhead choked out.

"It's my understanding that a swarm of quaxlims has nested somewhere you go often, and that's why you've become so popular as of late," Luna explained patiently.

"Oh, well… yes. Of course. Dreadful, those," Ginny mumbled, playing along.

Luna's response was a simple hum of agreement as she continued on ahead in the hallway. After the blonde disappeared into the sea of students, Ginny released a sigh. Since lunch, it'd been everything she could do to avoid some of the most awkward and bizarre questions she'd ever been asked in her life (most of which involving a certain Malfoy's… er… "man-bits", as Eleanor Branstone had so eloquently put it). Luna's theory of "quaxlims", whatever the blasted things were supposed to be, was a welcome one.

She reckoned it was only a matter of time before the Howler came. Ron's? Her mother's? She'd have to wait to find out, but there was surely no way Hogwarts's juiciest bit of gossip wouldn't get round to one Wizarding family that's size seemed to grow exponentially by the year… eventually. Until then, her daily life would have to be lived in fear of being embarrassed before the entire school.

"Stupid, stupid Malfoys with their bloody _fantastic_ timing- screwing me over right when I'm at the top of the world," she growled.

"Did you hear that?" a younger girl nearby whispered excitedly. "She said Malfoy had _fabulous_ timing!"

"Mmmm, I'll bet he does," her companion said in a low voice, and Ginny nearly lost her lunch right then and there.

She took a breath and slid into the library, thankful that her last period of the day was empty on Fridays. She could hole up with a book and drown her sorrows in the dust of the library. Hopefully no one was feeling a particular urge to read anything from the Herbology section, because if anyone showed up in that particular row… Well, she wasn't going to be responsible for her own actions if one more person made any references to her shagging Draco Malfoy.

Mercy was not something well exercised by Ginny Weasley.

And so she found her niche. It was between two bookshelves pressed against the very back wall of the library. A large armchair chair had been, at some point or another, moved between the two shelves and never removed. The square table that was paired with the chair sat several feet away, in the corner where the south wall met the east wall. Since Neville Longbottom had graduated the year before, hardly anyone passed by the Herbology section anymore, so Ginny had taken full advantage of the open chair and table, doing homework or reading as she pleased.

The only disadvantage of her little place came at night, when the chair fell into complete shadow. She could, logically, cast Lumos and call it a day, but then what would she do with her wand? Reading, in Ginny's head, could only be done with two hands, and there was no point in trying to do it otherwise.

But, for now, it was daytime, and, instead of being lit by the torches or floating orbs, daylight flitted through the windows and drifted towards her section, allowing her to curl up and stare blankly at _Charming your way through Charms_ by Cassandra Brakewood (Year Seven on the school supplies list, of course), hoping the information would simply… sink into her brain.

And then that voice was there again.

"You should just give up, Weasley," it drawled.

"Oh, shut up, shut up, shut up!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down even as her entire body was flooded with rage.

Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes as he leaned his back against the bookshelf directly across from her. "I really don't think I will."

"Well, I really think you _should_," Ginny growled. "Or, even better, just leave. Talk if you want, just do it _anywhere_ else. You've already managed to make my day miserable without even being here."

"Oh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I'm intrigued, Weasel. How is it that, without my even being in Hogwarts, I still managed to start gossip?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Who said you started gossip?"

"A shot in the dark," he admitted with a satisfied smirk. "Guess I got it right in one."

"Shut up. Go away," she sighed, her eyes flickering down to her book as she thought about her morning. Then something occurred to her, and her eyes snapped back to his. "You're not here. I'm dreaming. Bloody hell! I fell asleep in the library again!"

He looked as though he'd been caught off guard. "What on earth are you talking about, Weasley?"

She raised her chin and got out of her chair. This, however, took some effort, as she'd been sitting cross-legged, and her feet seemed to have fallen asleep. With a groan, she stumbled a few feet towards the young man… who may or may not have been entirely real.

"You aren't actually here," she said straightening up. "I've fallen asleep and am dreaming. Now that you're all caught up, I'd like some answers. Why on earth are you starring in my dreams all of the sudden?"

"Starring in your dreams? Have I been visiting your subconscious often, Weasley?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, and answer the damned question," she instructed, pulling out her wand threateningly. "Or I'll see just how much torture I can get away with in my dreams."

He visibly stiffened. "No need for that, Weasley. If I'm merely a dream, then I can't hurt you, can I?"

Her eyes narrowed darkly. "Don't _ever_ think that, Malfoy," she warned. "I don't care if you're real or a dream or whatever. Just consider yourself warned- thinking you're safe in your dreams is the biggest mistake you could make."

He was silent as he looked at her for a moment. "I suppose you're right," he sighed, pushing off the bookshelf to step closer to her. "After all, that very mistake almost cost you your life, now didn't it?"

She was so surprised that she took a step back. (Actually, it was really more of a backwards stagger than anything else.) "What?" she asked, so angry and hurt that the voice she spoke with hardly counted as a whisper.

"That's right, poor little Weasley. Heir of Salazar or whatever other rubbish you dubbed yourself that year," he sneered before raising his voice an octave or so. "Let me whine about my traumatic experience for years to come and lust after my saviour, good ole' Potter. How's that working out for you, Weasley?"

She had punched him before she knew what he was doing. Right in the nose, with a fist balled as tightly as possible, and using all the force she had ever had in her body, she had punched him. She was crying now, and shouting.

"What right have you got, Malfoy?" she shrieked. "You think you have some right to pick on the littlest Weasley since Daddy Dearest of yours almost got her killed after he got her possessed by the darkest wizard the world's ever known? You think you've got some pedestal to stand on because you're the son of the most heartless man on the face of the planet? Well, you're wrong, Malfoy. You're wrong, your father's always been wrong, and everything you ever have or ever will stand for is wrong. Rot in hell, you great arse. I couldn't care less about what happens to your pathetic excuse for a soul."

She couldn't see. Her tears were blurring her vision, and she could feel her fist throbbing. It hurt. She hurt. The world was making her dizzy...

--

"Ginny Weasley, I'm going to murder you with my own two hands," a voice snarled, and Ginny's eyes snapped open.

She was on the chair in the library, and Laura Madley (a Hufflepuff a year behind her who played chaser for her House's Quidditch team) was standing before her, the beginnings of a very fierce bruise showing up round her eye.

"Laura!" Ginny cried, surprised. "I'm so- did I do that?"

"Did you do this?" Laura scoffed. "No, this me getting hit with a broomstick the other day."

"Oh."

""Oh" is right. I heard your screams from the Recreational Reading section, and you nearly scared half my life away."

"Sorry, I was… having a- a nightmare."

The corners of Laura's mouth twitched. "About Malfoy, right?"

Ginny stiffened. "… How did you know?" she asked cautiously.

"Well, with all the gossip going about, I figure you two had have done something to start it all. But that was pretty intense, Ginny," the girl chuckled.

The redhead groaned. "Oh, Merlin, what did I say?"

"It was mostly you whimpering, when I got here. Loud yelling sounds were what drew me to you, and then you just went slack and started sobbing. Every so often, you mumbled "Malfoy". That's about it…"

"Is anyone else in the library?" Ginny asked quickly.

Laura looked slightly ashamed. "Well, yeah, Ginny. People come into the library all the time. Most of the girls have already run off to spread rumours of you and Malfoy going at it in the library while all the guys probably wandered off in hopes of convincing someone to have their way with 'em in here."

Ginny's nose wrinkled. "Charming blokes, here at Hogwarts."

"Don't I know it," Laura huffed. "Now, not to pry or anything…"

"Be my guest. The rest of the world didn't even give me a warning," Ginny told the girl.

"Well, it's nothing, really. I'm just wandering why you call him Malfoy. Wouldn't calling him Draco make you two seem more… intimate?"

Ginny sighed. "I doubt you'll believe me, Laura, but I'm really not shagging Draco Malfoy."

"Really?"

"Really, really. Not even in my dreams."

"Well, never mind, in that case. I'll be going, I suppose," Laura stated, not looking entirely convinced.

"Yeah- thanks for, you know, waking me up," Ginny offered warmly.

Laura nodded, shrugging slightly. "Just try not to pass out in any more public areas, okay? I'll have to avoid this place for weeks just to keep from running into shag buddies."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ginny laughed, waving to the girl as she left the Herbology section of the library.

Sinking into her chair, Ginny sighed. She thought about the… dream? She hadn't fully convinced herself that that's what they were yet, but she had nothing better to call them. Malfoy… She'd never known him all that well in school, yet he seemed so clear in her mind. So clear… so predatory, in a way. Like he was stalking his prey, like he was going to trap it from all sides and torture it slowly before taking its life.

Ginny shivered.

She was not going to be trapped again- she was no one's prey anymore.

--

"You do pack quite the punch, Weasley."

Now she knew she was dreaming- there was no doubt in her mind. Surely she couldn't have fallen asleep outside in the light of day. Her head hurt, though, which felt surprisingly real. Maybe that was because she was slouched up against a large tree- the closest of many to the lake. Her body was completely sprawled out on the ground, but her head was propped against the trunk of the tree.

'My hair,' she thought, genuinely upset. 'It'll never forgive me after this… I'll be stuck with a lion's mane for the rest of eternity…'

"You're quite the mess, aren't you?" he quipped, and she returned her focus to him.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked him, deciding to take whatever his answer was for the truth.

He smiled coyly. "Perhaps…"

She grunted in response, leaning forward into a sitting position. "Figures you'd be a prat about this. Am I going to have to hex you, Malfoy?"

"I'd like to see you try… Weasley," he said, adding her surname as an afterthought. "Really, you're utter crap at charms. I'd rather imagine you'd be the same at hexes and jinxes and really anything else your average wizard, save Longbottom, of course, could accomplish without fuss."

"Long-winded speech for someone who got punched earlier," she pointed out, noticing now the faint signs of bruising beneath his eyes and down the long sides of his straight, narrow nose.

He glared at her. "You should consider yourself lucky I fixed the break before it did any permanent damage. The bruising, however, I'm stuck with until I can find some sort of makeup spell."

"Draco Malfoy, admitting a lack of knowledge to a _Weasley_?" she mocked in response. "Will these wonders never cease?"

"Well, Weasley, since you're so smug, why don't you tell me a makeup _charm_ or two?"

The glare she shot him could have sent several young men into early graves. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath, determined to keep her anger at bay.

"Listen, I'm done. I don't want to trade insults with you," she surrendered.

"Either you're real and on the Hogwarts grounds with no one's knowing, or my imagination is absolutely amazingly good at keeping you in character."

"'In character', am I?" he asked, lifting a single platinum eyebrow.

"Admitting you're all in my head, Malfoy?"

The corners of his lips twitched. "Something like that. I can't very well convince you I've snuck onto the Hogwarts grounds, now can I?"

"I'd believe it, I suppose," she sighed. "If anyone, other than Harry and co., could do it, I suppose a _Malfoy_ would be as probable as any other person."

"How generous of you to _almost_ put me in the same category as your beloved _Potter_," he snarled. "Maybe I could get a star tattooed on my forehead? Or maybe a sun?"

"Clever," she laughed humourlessly. "If only you could trade that scathing wit of yours for a conscience. The world would be a better place."

"Things are always less amusing on the good side," he said simply.

"And you would know." Her tone was dry. "What, with all the _good_ you do on a daily basis."

"I'm not exactly running about with a mark on my forearm, am I?"

"You're not exactly running about saving lives, either, though."

"And you are?"

They were silent for several seconds, her sitting, him standing a few paces away from her. He averted his eyes from her to the lake for a moment. With his hands stuffed in his pockets and the beginnings of a fringe blowing slightly in the slight breeze of the night, he seemed… uncomfortable. Like he was nervous.

"Cold?" she asked, noticing his lack of robes or cloak.

He shot her a look. "Not your concern, Weasley."

She sighed. "Fine, be that way."

They resumed their quiet for what felt like ages. Try as she might, Ginny couldn't seem to steal her eyes away from the young man who stood just to her right. He was so tall. He had to be taller than Ron. Yet, he was _so _lean. Could he have been even lankier than Harry? Maybe. She couldn't tell for sure.

Looking at Malfoy, it was almost like looking at several features that were attractive on their own, but when put together they came out oddly. He was so angular, especially in the face, that she might have thought him intense even without knowing his obnoxious personality and so-called elite breeding. She didn't understand the aura round him, nor did she like being so curious about him all of the sudden.

"You're going to stare a hole through me, Weasley," he warned, and she looked up to meet his eyes, surprised.

"If this is a dream, as I am currently suspecting, it doesn't matter," she told him, shrugging slightly. "You're awkward."

His brow furrowed and he was silent for a long minute. "I'm not sure how to take that. Elaborate."

"You're so angular, I guess. Like… sharp," she explained. At his confused look, she felt her face turn bright red beneath her freckles. "Well, you've got cheekbones that Lavender and Parvati used to envy and eyes that are grey, which is just bizarre, and a hair colour most people can only get out of a bottle or with a _charm_," she spat the last word out, "and you're so, so tall and really, really thin and… yeah."

It was awkward to be pointing out the most obvious characteristics of her older brother's least favourite person in the entire world (who also happened to be a royal pain in her own arse as of late), and she hated it. She felt her ears burning, and she couldn't fight the urge to turn her eyes to the ground she sat on, tugging at bits of grass as she waited out his silence.

"Hmm," he hummed, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "I've also got oddly feminine hands, if you'd like to mock those, too."

Ginny's eyes widened. Had he just cracked a joke? She made to look him in the eye so she could tell for sure, but he was staring at his hands. They were spread out before him, palms down and fingers spread out, and the look on his face was one of disdain. His jaw was clenched slightly, and his brow lowered until he let out the barest sigh and relaxed his features.

Ginny couldn't help it- she giggled.

"Well, then, there's your "oddly feminine" hands to add to my list," she announced. "Good to know."

He simply shrugged at that, the edges of his mouth twitching again as he did so. Without a word, he let out a breath and took a few steps towards the lake. Ginny watched him as he moved. It was a catlike walk that he had, and it fit him, for all his awkwardness. For all his femininity, she acknowledged. Because, when it came down to it, Draco Malfoy wasn't ruggedly handsome or boyishly cute. Draco Malfoy's awkwardness could be attributed to only one thing: he was _pretty_. And of all Ginny's seventeen years, she knew one thing for sure: men weren't supposed to be pretty.

But, still, there was no other word for what he was. He was pretty. And, therefore, feminine. In his own way.

Yet, Ginny noted, there was something about his back, which was turned to her as the wind tousled what little it could get of his gelled hair, that was quite clearly male.

And it intrigued her.

--

"Ginny, when did you get in last night?"

"Hell if I know," Ginny shrugged, responding honestly but otherwise ignoring the girls from her dormitory as she shovelled her breakfast into her mouth. She cast them a wary look before frowning. "Listen, I'm really not feeling well, so I think I've had about as much breakfast as I can... Could you all tell me where Jimmy is?"

"Well, I think he and Natalie…" one of the girls began, but stalled. "Check the library?"

"I doubt it," Ginny said cautiously. "Jimmy hates the library. Says that Pince has it out for him."

"Giana," another girl admonished. "I doubt Natalie will mind you telling her friend about her and Jimmy's little spat."

"But-" Giana moved to argue, but a look from her friend stopped her. "Alright Kaye," she turned to Ginny before speaking again, "Natalie thinks Jimmy's been cheating on her. So she confronted him last night when he got into the commons late. They've been having a series of rows since dawn. Haven't seen either, but I heard 'em cursing up a storm earlier near the charms room."

Ginny was confused. She told them as much. They were silent.

"Jimmy? Jimmy Peakes? _Cheating_? With whom?" she asked, gaping at the two girls.

"Ginny, honestly," Kaye said solemnly, giving the redhead a meaningful look.

"What- _me_?"

"Who else?" Giana murmured.

Ginny fought the urge to glare at the girl. "But that's absurd! Isn't the whole school ranting about my shagging _Malfoy_?"

"Well, yeah…" Renee hesitated.

Ginny caught on. "Oh, so now I'm a whore. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Charming, even. Alright, well then, excuse me. I wasn't feeling well earlier, but I am almost ready to wretch right here, thanks to what I've just heard, so I'll be on my way."

"Will we see you at Charms?" Giana asked boldly.

"Tell Flitwick he can shove his lessons up his arse," Ginny snapped, aware that her temper was growing to fierce levels now as she marched out of the Great Hall. She knew only one thing she could do at this point: find Natalie.

It really wasn't all that hard of a task. Anyone who happened to be passing by Moaning Myrtle's bathroom (or made the mistake of being within a hundred-metre radius of it, really) could have heard the wails of the pitiful Natalie MacDonald.

"Natalie?" Ginny cooed as she stepped into the bathroom. "Natalie, it's Ginny."

The shriek that came in response made her wince. "Go away, you… you… you _slut_!"

'Creative, this one,' Ginny thought with a mental scoff, though what she said was a simple: "Natalie, Jimmy and I have never been anything more than friends."

"Oh, right, I'm supposed to believe _that_ load of rubbish?" Natalie screeched, and Ginny managed to find the stall the blonde was locked in.

"Well, yes, actually," Ginny muttered, and Natalie's sobs grew louder in response. "Natalie, come on, listen to me. I've never… Jimmy has never… Do you really think _I'd_… You can't really think that Jimmy is chasing my skirt, can you?"

"He follows you like a… a… a puppy!" the other girl sobbed back, her words broken by outbreaks of tears.

"It's because I'm the captain of his Quidditch team, for Merlin's sake!"

"Sod off, you harpy!"

"Like hell _I'm_ the harpy here. If I remember correctly, you're the one that lured Jimmy away from his _last_ girlfriend by-"

"Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!"

"You shut up, you whiney little dolt, I'm trying to tell you-"

"I'm not listening to you!"

"- I've never touched your sodding boyfriend!"

"Lalalalalalala!"

"Oh stop being so immature you pesty little-"

"Ginny Weasley, you are by far the most deceitful, most-"

"FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS THAT ARE HOLY, NATALIE-"

"DON'T RAISE YOUR VOICE AT ME, IF ANYONE HAS THAT RIGHT HERE, IT'S ME. WHY SHOULD I BELIEVE YOU ANYWAY, YOU-"

"_BECAUSE I'M SHAGGING DRACO MALFOY_."

The silence in the room was sudden and new, and Ginny realized all too late what she had just shouted at the very top of her voice. Her entire body stiffened as she heard a strangled mewl come from inside the stall and something that sounded an awful lot like "Figures".

The giggle was inevitable, but she hated it with all her passions when she heard it. Turning on her heel, she saw that more than half the loo had been filled by girls from all years and Houses, and curious eyes belonging to all the young men who could fit in the doorway watched her as well.

"Bugger off, you lot," Ginny barked, gathering her wits as she did so. "Just a couple girls having a row in the bathroom, nothing you haven't seen. Get!"

Very few people moved, despite the fierce glare she directed at the mob. Among the nameless faces was a smug-looking Laura Madley, who was one of the few that hadn't dropped her jaw at Ginny's admission.

"Oh, well, sod it," Ginny huffed, and moved to part the crowd in her own escape. Her peers let her, and she slid through them with surprising ease. Only Laura followed her out.

It was several minutes (enough for Ginny to make her way to the front entrance to the school) before either of them spoke. When one of the two did, it was Laura.

"Don't worry about lying to me earlier," she said nonchalantly, "I didn't believe you, anyway."

Ginny snorted inelegantly and strode out onto the grounds as Laura turned back, wandering away with a soft whistle.

--

"I hate this," Ginny growled, coming down from her haven in the sky. She allowed herself to glower at the great gaggle of giggling girls moving her way for only a moment before wiping her face clear of any emotion whatsoever.

This wasn't exactly new since her admission shagging her archenemy.

"Hello," she said pleasantly.

One of the girls, a blonde whose head barely reached Ginny's shoulders, blushed a shade of red that even Ron may never have reached before, and lowered her eyes. The friend she turned her body towards was much bolder.

"So, you're with Malfoy?" she demanded, speaking with lips that were fuller than any Ginny had ever seen- they distracted her for a moment, really.

"Uh, sure," she mumbled, not sure which was the path better travelled: lying about being _just a shag_ or lying about being _the real deal_.

World of difference, there.

"Hmph," she scoffed, crossing her arms as her friend turned a darker shade of red and opened her mouth multiple times, never letting any sound escape.

"Something you'd like to ask?" Ginny asked calmly, looking straight at the blonde, who shook her head fiercely, causing the rest of the mob to break into giggles and "Shhh!"s. "Something funny?" she asked them, raising a red eyebrow at them.

"No," the blonde said, almost _too_ enthusiastically. "I was just… curious… about… erm…" she looked at the "so-you're-with-Malfoy" girl, "I can't do this, it's too embarrassing."

"Oh, just ask it already!" Ginny insisted, raising her voice. She was certain that whatever question this tiny girl had, she'd either heard it or worse.

The girl let out a squeak and the group giggled again, this time giving encouragements to the shy girl. "Well, I was- I mean, we were- but, mostly me, you know… How big is Malfoy?"

Ginny was confused, mostly by the girl's babbling, but also by the question. "How, big?" she asked, ready to give her assessment of his height before choking on her own words. "You mean, like," she gestured towards the hem of her skirt vaguely, earning a nod from the entire group and a defiant glare from the "hmph"er.

She was right, she had heard this before, and she'd heard worse.

"Big enough," she said smug as she lied (or, at least, lied about knowing precisely), directing her look at the glaring girl. Hey, if she was going to get pegged as a participant in shagging _Malfoy_ of all people, she reckoned she might as well be able to put the daft buggers of the world in their place. Besides, could Malfoy really complain about someone spreading a good word about his, erm- How had Eleanor Branstone put it?- _man-bits_? She seriously doubted it. Then again, that was assuming that word got round to said Malfoy that he and the youngest Weasley were rumoured to be shagging round the metaphorical water cooler. Of Hogwarts.

Which would never, ever happen.

Ever.

If the deities were merciful.

Or tended to fancy redheads.

Either way worked for her, really- as long as Draco Malfoy never, ever, ever found out that Ginny Weasley had shouted that she'd shagged him in the presence of as many students that could fit themselves in Moaning Myrtle's loo while still leaving room for the shouter and the one she was shouting at to go at one another, claws drawn, should the need arise.

The mob of girls dissolved, several of them giggling as they headed up the hill, but the one that seemed pissy and the one who was impossibly embarrassed remained before Ginny.

"They dared me to say it," the shy one mumbled, not meeting Ginny's eyes.

Ginny understood her pain, "Ah."

"I'm sorry I was rude," she muttered.

"Don't worry about it. No harm, no foul."

The blonde smiled shyly, briefly meeting her eyes, before turning to go. Her friend made to follow, but, before actually doing so, she gave Ginny a quick once-over. "Your broom is utter crap," she informed the redhead before leaving, submitting to her blonde friend's whispered admonishments.

--

"I suppose it would make sense, you know, if we _weren't bloody enemies_!" he roared, and Ginny lifted her fingers to her temples.

"I was desperate!" she explained harshly. "Nothing quiets a room quite like a good ole' "By-the-way-I'm-shagging-that-great-prat-my-brother-routinely-tries-to-murder-with-his-eyes", in case you didn't know."

"This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I can't even begin to believe-"

"Merlin, it's not that hard to understand, Malfoy!"

"Just shut up for a moment, would you, Weasley?"

"What are you going to do if I don't?" she implored, glaring at him fiercely.

His eyes were dark when he turned on her then. "I will do everything in my power to make those rumours anything but, Weasley. And I guarantee you will not enjoy it."

"You're threatening me with _rape_?" she barked, terrified and livid all at once.

"It's not exactly rape," he sneered. "All in your head, remember?"

She lost all of her rage for one horrifying second, and she merely stood limp. For that full moment, she reverted back to that confused, misguided eleven-year-old girl who ended up almost entirely drained of her soul and was left to rot on the stone floor of a hidden chamber no one actually believed existed for the previous half-century.

And then she was suddenly anything but limp. She was lashing out, grabbing at everything in the Common Room and hurling it with all of her might at the Malfoy heir. Cushions, books, quills, and those silly things people use to poke at fires- everything and everything was flying. Her wand was only remembered halfway through her assault, and when she turned to it in hopes of ruining Malfoy's life all the more, she felt once again the rush of anger for her not being adept at charms- _oh_ how she could have rocked his world, then- and she could _guarantee he would not enjoy it_, to borrow his words.

"Christ, Weasley- Wea- WEASLEY, WOULD YOU GRAB THE LAST SHREDS OF YOUR TATTERED SANITY FOR JUST ONE BLEEDING MOMENT?!" the sheer volume of the platinum-haired young man drew Ginny out of her craze, huffing and puffing as she stared around the room.

"Lord," she finally breathed heavily. "This had best be a dream. I have no intentions of cleaning this up later."

He stared at her incredulously for a few moments.

Then he let out a choked, humourless laugh. Even as it came out, it changed from a dry little thing to an actual, genuine chuckle, which, only for a moment, became something of a laugh before resuming "chuckle" mode.

It was a pretty sound, Ginny decided, catching her breath. It suited him… what, with all his prettiness and whatnot.

"Your laugh is-" she stopped herself, remembering his oddly honest admission to feeling insecure about "feminine" hands.

He had heard her start, though. "My laugh, Weasley?"

She shrugged. "It's not something I hear often, I suppose."

He seemed to contemplate that for a moment. "No," he finally agreed. "I suppose you wouldn't hear it all that often at all, would you?"

She took it for a rhetorical question and moved to pick up a few cushions and replace them on the sofa before sitting down. It was awkward then, between them. Why?

Well, firstly, she had established that she was dreaming… or something. And it seemed that, in these dream… or something…, Draco Malfoy wasn't just a figment of her imagination- he was a projection of the flesh and blood Draco Malfoy that lived who-knows-where (however far away from Hogwarts) who happened to have some connection at Hogwarts that immediately notified him of his current status: shagging Ginny Weasley. So, Ginny was real, and Draco was real, but they were in the surreal setting that was her (or his?) subconscious. Or, at least, so her theory stated.

He moved as if to grab the cushion of a nearby armchair, but he seemed confused. Not that Ginny could blame him- that particular cushion happened to be one of the things she'd chucked into the fire not five minutes ago.

"Sit here," she said, motioning to the cushion she'd replaced on the other end of the sofa from her, "I don't bite."

He did as she said but stuck his slightly nose in the air, as if doing that somehow made up for him sitting next to a _blood traitor_. It didn't. Not in the mind of Lucius Malfoy, anyway (who was doing a spectacular job just about now at fighting rigor mortis in an attempt to quite literally turn in his grave).

"So," she choked out after what had to be the most awkward silence of her existence.

He made a sound that wasn't unlike the whisper of a snort. "So," he repeated.

"Sorry to have claimed your virtue for my own?" she attempted.

Now he did snort. "Claimed my virtue, have you? No, I seriously doubt your lie convinced anyone that you'd been my _first_, though I suppose I can accept that as an apology."

"Good, because I don't think I can come up with a better one."

But, oh, Merlin, if the seed of curiosity hadn't been planted. Draco Malfoy had all but said "Hey, I'm not a virgin" to her, and now she was fighting every fibre of her body so to not ask "Who shagged your brains out first, Malfoy?".

"Tracey Davis, our fifth year," he said with a smirk. "In case you were wondering."

"I wasn't," she denied, though she felt a blush creeping up her throat.

"Exactly like a dream, that one," he breathed.

"The pretty girl with those lovely blue eyes and dark-as-night hair?" she asked, surprised at her memory of the girl. "With the olive-coloured skin, am I right?"

He looked surprised. "Spot on, actually. Probably the only half-blood I'll ever shag, but it was fun, nonetheless."

"I'm sure," Ginny drawled. "Wait- she was a half-blood? But she was in Slytherin!"

He raised his eyebrows at her for a moment. "I'm well aware of this, Weasley. She was shunned quite a bit by the rest of us. But my fifth year was an odd one, and I had a lapse of judgement, and she was there. Convenient, despite her blood. And I was absolutely smashed. Like I said, probably the only time it'll happen."

"Oh," Ginny said lamely.

He turned on her. "I've a bit of an ulterior motive in this, Weasley," he told her plainly. "I don't just share the sordid secrets of my bed without expecting the same in return."

She should have been embarrassed, but she wasn't. "I slept with Dean _my_ fifth year. Once. That's all there is to know."

"Thomas? The black boy in my year?"

"The one and only," she sighed. "We dated for a year, we broke up. End of story."

"Sounds boring."

She frowned. "I've come to realize that we Gryffindors tend to gravitate that way in relationships. Simple, clean, and boring."

"And convenient. Can't forget that," he added.

She looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean by that?"

"Just that you lot don't exactly drift from House to House. You tend to stay in your own House when you date," he explained. "Now, if I do recall, your brother is engaged to Granger; Thomas and that Lavender girl are bedmates; that Finnegan bloke makes puppy eyes at the Gryffindor Patil twin- can't remember her name; and the older Creevey fancies that _Vane_ girl while his brother was sickmaking over you all last year, along with Peakes, though, from what I've heard, he's dating Natalie MacDonald. No surprises there."

As he spoke, it occurred to Ginny that he was ridiculously right with all of his observations.

"Well," she said, somewhat proud. "I dated Michael Corner my fourth year- he was a Ravenclaw."

"Only to follow him up with Thomas, I'm assuming."

"True, but can't blame a girl for trying."

"It's almost silly how likely it is you'll marry Potter," he breathed.

She groaned. "Hex me now."

He laughed a short-lived laugh. "Why? Aren't his eyes _as green as a fresh-pickled toad_, or some other rot like that?"

"Shut up," she snapped, suddenly irritated. "And, I'll have you know that I've no intention to marry Harry. The boy's so valiant, he'd probably try to name all our children after his dead relatives or something equally dreadful."

Again, he laughed, and she found she liked the peculiar sound of it. "And that would be a problem?"

"Well, not a problem, but I'm a bit superstitious, and that just sounds like a cry for danger. Also, it's a bit depressing. I wouldn't want to have to look at my children and think 'people with their names died and left their only child alone to deal with the big-bad world for all of his life'. I'd have to hex _myself_ at those thoughts."

He smiled crookedly for a moment. "I suppose that would be rather… frustrating."

"To say the least."

"To say the least," he agreed.

They shared then several long minutes of calm silence. No tension arose for those few minutes, though Ginny begin to think, again. Unfortunately, thinking brought up thoughts that were oddly unpleasant to consider. How long could she keep dreaming of Draco Malfoy? How long would they talk about these peculiar topics or share calm silences or argue or banter or any of that? Before these dreams, Ginny'd never once taken a moment to reconsider the platinum-haired young man, but now; he was, quite literally, all she dreamt about.

"Thinking what a pity it'll be when we have to part, Weasley?"

"Something like that."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the corners of his lips twitching. "It has been rather… interesting, I suppose."

She snorted. "Yes, I do _suppose_ that any event that took it upon itself to destroy the rest of my life at Hogwarts as I know it deserves, at the very least, to be deemed _interesting_. Perhaps." Her sarcasm on the last word was biting.

He stood up and stretched, catlike as his arms reached out above his head. The cuffs of his sleeves were unbuttoned, though, so they fell down his forearms, and Ginny caught a flash of black on the young man's alabaster skin. Before she knew what she was doing, she was up. She reached across him to snatch his left elbow, and pushed the sleeve up to his elbow, staring down at what was there.

"What…" she began, lost for words, "what is this?"

There was no denying it: Draco Malfoy blushed. It was hardly a drop of pink, and nothing compared to what a Weasley could produce, but it was there all the same, and she noticed it while looking into his eyes (which really were the most bizarre shade of grey). He snatched his arm back, making a point of tugging the sleeves down and over his wrists and then somewhat farther than was normal, buttoning them as soon as he got the chance.

"Nothing," he muttered darkly, shooting a glare at the redhead. "Did you think I had the bloody _mark_ or something? I told you before, and I quote, 'I'm not exactly running around with a mark on my arm'. Are you absolutely beyond the realms of the good and civil- and, I cannot emphasize this enough, _sane_- Weasley?"

"Was that _Chinese_?" she asked, ignoring what he said. "Did you have Chinese characters on your wrist, Malfoy?"

"For the love- they're not _characters_. They're letters, just like what we use. And it's hardly _Chinese_, Weasley. It's Latin."

"And what exactly are Latin _letters_ doing on your forearm?"

"That doesn't matter," he said, suddenly closing up entirely- even his anger. "What I've decided to get tattooed on my arm is none of your business, Weasley. So shove off and find some other bloke to pick on."

She grinned, advancing on him (he'd moved to the other side of the common room since she'd discovered his _letters_) slowly- not unlike a cat, herself, she liked to think. "Oh really, Malfoy? Well, you see- my brother Bill happens to do quite a bit of travelling-"

"I don't give a rat's arse about your blood traitor family, Weasley."

"- And, you see, he told me quite a while ago that certain tattoos hold magic within the ink they're printed in."

The gulp the young man took was so deep, Ginny could see it from where she stood, still advancing. (Of course, she might have been subconsciously paying attention to his throat, as she'd always been a sucker for the I'm-slightly-scrawny-so-my-Adam's-apple's-really-obvious kind of look, and Draco Malfoy pulled the look off impeccably.)

"So, I know it's magical. Then again, I could have known it would be just by knowing your upbringing. However," she paused for dramatic effect, though, physically, she was still moving- to the point that she was within arm's reach of him, "the one thing I can't seem to figure out is what's got Draco Malfoy, of all people, scared enough to get a tattoo that probably won't help a mite in any situation he intended it for."

It should be considered now that any sane person would not advance on a Malfoy who already felt like he'd been caught eating the metaphorical canary. It should also be considered that the Weasley family hadn't been praised for their levels of sanity in many, many centuries- if ever at all. And Ginny Weasley, deities bless, was perhaps the least sane of all, as (perhaps in after-the-fact of Tom's inhabiting her?) she tended to like being that cruel, cruel feline that enjoys playing with its mouse before killing it. So, in this situation we have a couple of things occurring simultaneously: the cat (in this case, Draco Malfoy) has long-since eaten the canary, and its cruel cousin (AKA- Ginny Weasley) seems to have mistaken it for a mouse and is backing it into a corner in hopes of killing it after a long session of swatting at and buffing it upside the head.

So, obviously, the cat being backed in a corner is given two options: one, it can either accept its somewhat tragic fate or, two, it can do absolutely everything in its power to get out of the situation at hand.

Draco Malfoy, let it be said, did a spectacular job at waiting until the very last possible moment before having to resort to desperate measures of getting out of his current predicament. And when he chose his method of attack, it was well thought out, carefully timed, and perfectly executed.

Ginevra Molly Weasley never stood a chance.

One minute, she was leaning into him slightly, trying to make up for the difference between their heights and gain some supremacy. The next, his hands (oddly feminine though they were) were gripping her shoulders fiercely and his lips were cold and hard and unmoving on hers. She went so still, she was certain she had died and instantaneously undergone rigor mortis. Really, though, she didn't actually comprehend it at first. It was kind of like drowning. One minute you're swimming, then next you're dying- really, who can keep up with the speed of life these days?

So, again, we have a situation in which the cat under attack can do something. In one scenario, she could have lifted her knee and prevented a Malfoy heir from ever emerging biologically. In another, she could have participated in acts that might eventually lead her to a road of _producing_ the next Malfoy heir. Generally speaking, when a Weasley is presented with an opportunity of ending the bloodline of Malfoy or extending it to future generations, the choice is an obvious one. Or so Ginny had been told (in much fewer words- many of which were obscenities).

But, you see, Ginny had recently developed the theory that anyone who was adamant on ending the Malfoy bloodline, Weasley or no, had not been kissed by the canary-eating, Latin-lettered, awkwardly pretty Draco Malfoy. Ginny, on the other hand, could now say she had.

It was all cold for a moment. His lips were cold (physically) and unmoving, and she was cold (emotionally) and unmoving, and then a shiver went down her spine and it changed. It wasn't _"hot like _fire_"_ as Romilda Vane often described her snogs, but it was a bit like electricity. Her shoulders jerked, and she sprung to life, slinging an arm around his neck loosely and pushing herself up to move further into his lips. It didn't take long for her to register his arms encircling her waist and him kissing her with an equal amount of fervour.

She sighed, for whatever reason (the way it felt, the rush of kissing the enemy, or the fact that she knew in all her sleazy romance novels, the one being snogged senseless sighed when they decided it was time for their male counterpart's tongue to be down her throat- whatever the reason), and he seemed to get what she meant, because he slid his tongue into her mouth with ease and efficiency, and she felt that electricity jolt through her again.

Time, however, pulled her away from him. That, and the very real realization that she had crossed a very real line by entering the (probably) unreal realm of her dreams and snogging her very real enemy. Reality can be a bitch like that, sometimes.

And then she woke up, sprawled out on the couch, the barest rays of sunlight reaching through the window in the common room, embracing her like lovers. She hated it, and moved to go upstairs and catch more sleep.

And maybe snog her long-time enemy again.

If the deities were merciful.

Or had a thing for Romeo and Juliet-like stories.

Either way worked for Ginny, really.

--

"I still can't believe you're scared of werewolves," she chuckled, and he peered at her from over his reading glasses.

"And I still can't believe you went on an all-out manhunt to find me after graduation, but, you know, life's peculiar like that, sometimes."

"But, honestly. To get a tattoo to ward them off? Did you really think it would work- even for a second?"

He put down his novel and stood up, stretching slightly. His bare chest illuminated awkwardly by the mix dying embers from the fire on his right and the moonlight shimmering through the window behind him. She smiled and pulled him onto the foot of the bed beside her. He sat next to her head as she lied, face up, on the bed and kicked at the headboard with her feet out of boredom.

"Frightened you've married an idiot?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Something like that," she smiled back. "Though, in all honesty, I'm more worried about the children. You realize I'll never let them get tattoos to ward off any sort of magic in the future, right?"

"Just like you wouldn't let them be named after any of my dead relatives," he said, frowning. After all these years, she still couldn't tell if he was being insincere or not.

"You should consider me generous. After all, I do allow them to visit their Uncles Gred and Forge's shop. That in and of itself is a miracle after all their products put me through seventh year," she frowned (out of sincerity). "You know, I still think Natalie MacDon—er, I suppose it's Dennis now?- and Laura Zabini think I was shagging someone that year. Both of them suspected you, while Natalie swore I had Jimmy in my bed, too."

"To be fair, I was in your bed that year- in a way," he said with a crooked smile. "Dreams, you know. Tend to happen when you're in bed."

"Yet, strangely enough, I don't really remember you showing up when I was asleep in bed," she pondered aloud. "Hmm."

"One of the limits on the product," Draco explained, falling backwards on his back so his head was near Ginny's knees as his own legs hung off the end of the bed. "Wouldn't let me invade your time in bed rest so I couldn't corner you there and abscond with your virtue or something like that."

"I'll have to applaud them for that," Ginny chuckled, shivering as her husband ran his oddly feminine hands down her calves. "I don't think I could have controlled myself if you'd gotten me in my bed after that second time in the library, Merlin help me."

Draco seemed to ponder that. "You mean in the restricted section?" he asked, somewhat amazed. "I could have had you after that?" he looked like he was letting the thought run around in his head a bit. "Hmm… pity."

She laughed loudly, but leaned forward to swat his hands away from her legs. "Stop that, I'm not shagging you right now. I'm still feeling slightly nauseous."

He frowned deeply. "Leave it to my wife to be the one witch on earth who gets _morning_ sickness in the _middle of the night_. You're lucky I am able to drag my arse out of bed in time to hold your hair."

She moved her body so she could kiss him very lightly on the lips, pulling away before he got a chance to move. "I know, dear, and that's very sweet of you," she teased.

"_You_ could be very sweet, too, you know," he coerced, but she simply rolled her eyes.

"I could, but I've gotten into a bit of a mood thinking about your little trick back then. I know I said I'm letting the children go to Fred and George's shop, but I'll have to make sure the twins don't let them get their hands on- oh, what was it called again?"

"The Decisively Daft yet Delightful Daydreamer's Drought, courtesy of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes."

"That's it. I'll have to make sure Wesley and Thom don't get their hands on it. The poor girls. They've gone through enough of them as it is at Hogwarts…" she frowned.

"They're sixteen, they're boys," Draco soothed. "Let them have their fun. Perhaps they'll be caught eating a canary and get backed into a corner and be forced into snogging the hell out of the love of their future life one day. What will you have to say then?" The look on his face was of unholy smugness- something Ginny oftentimes associated with her two eldest children- twin boys, both with platinum blonde hair and chocolate brown eyes and the slightest hint of freckles across their noses and cheeks. One in Slytherin, one in Ravenclaw, the two were notorious for their promiscuous manners (according to Hermione, who'd been keeping an eye on the two since taking up the position of Arithmancy professor at Hogwarts), and this only seemed to egg on Ginny's husband's inflated self image.

"Honestly, Gin, without my sexual prowess all those years ago, I may not have even considered kissing you, and we'd still be stuck in the most bizarre circumstances for foreplay known to man. I do believe you owe quite a bit of thanks to several women- starting with the lovely Tracey Davis. Should I fetch the owl and a quill for you to write with?"

He seemed all too eager, so she played along. "Alright then, what shall I tell the _lovely_ Tracy Davis, Draco, _darling_?"

He grinned. "I think a simple _Thanks for introducing my husband to the world of shagging- he's given me six of the most attractive children on the face of the planet with his applaud able abilities in bed. All my Thanks and then Some, Mrs. Draco Malfoy' _would suffice."

His train of thought was met with a thick pillow across his face by his still slightly-nauseous wife, who was currently praying to all the deities (who either secretly wanted her or enjoyed putting her in Romeo and Juliet stories, whichever) that their seventh child would be born with red hair and all the rest of the Weasley genes- leaving out all the less than desirable Malfoy ones (the oddly feminine hands could stay, though- their daughter would appreciate that, she thought). Despite the buff across the face, he merely smirked at her and lifted his eyebrow in his smug, _come-hither_ type of way that made her melt, and even as she groaned her reluctance she was kissing him.

"Sweet, sweet, Merlin. It's too bloody early for you."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Fin. Whoo. Now, let me take a minute to throw an advertisement out here. I'm a part of a forum (International Confederation of Wizards, the link can be found in my profile) and several of the members there are participating in a collaborative universe project. If this doesn't quite make sense, you'll have to check out the author _iseewizards_ here on and read the story currently posted there. At my time of posting this, I haven't participated in the project yet, but my turn is coming up. I can assure you that some of my favorite people are working on this story, and the entire plot is a really rad idea. So, give it a looksie and be sure to review there, too!

(But review this story first, okay?)


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